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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955052">Arla's Statement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGlitchedArtist/pseuds/ThatGlitchedArtist'>ThatGlitchedArtist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, canon typical beholding nonsense, mentioned in passing without much detail really, minor gore, the rating's more bc I'm iffy on it but hey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGlitchedArtist/pseuds/ThatGlitchedArtist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Putting something down on paper based on an interaction my friend and I had happen on discord.</p>
<p>Jon pulls a traumatizing experience out of a passerby, much to her dismay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Arla's Statement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>       I sit alone in the field. Things are quite strange here, in London. Well, truthfully, it isn’t strange. Which is far from what I’m used to. I’m used to monsters, to sci-fi technology, the Wild West, anything but… Rural London, circa 2018 or 2019, I’m not sure. But certainly the 20th century. Far too modern to be the 1900’s, but not enough to be the 3000’s. That is when a tall, somewhat dark skinned man approaches me, and I’m suddenly glad I kept my gloves on. He’s wiry, and covered in scars, and going gray. He fixes his glasses as he walks over, and suddenly the air shifts. This is not a normal town. Not a monster-free place. My throat tightens, and a weight settles in my stomach as he speaks. “<em>Tell me your story.</em>” His voice is cold, but it doesn’t seem to be by choice. My mouth flaps open and shut uselessly a few times before I find myself speaking without thinking about it.<br/>       “ Well, I guess a bit of background is best given first. I travel the multiverse a lot, and don't stick in one place very long. Because of this, I don't get much of a chance to settle down and do something like get a job, so I…” I wave my hands a bit, trying to think of a good word before I realize what I’m actually saying. “Gravitate to fast things. Like pickpocketing. Judge me all you like, but it keeps me afloat. Some places are more harsh than others when it comes to pickpockets. Some you get away with a slap on the wrist, others you, well, you come away without a wrist.” I want to stop talking. I want to fall silent. I want to get up. To walk away. But I can’t. And I keep talking.<br/>       “At the time, I'd been a pickpocket for about 5 years, and took pride in my ability to brush past someone and take things without being so much as looked at. However, when you're in a world full of such people, and don't realize it, 5 years becomes nothing.” Oh god, it’s… It’s this story. Why am I telling it to some… Random guy in a park that told me to. How did he make me?<br/>      “I found a guy. He was big, looked pretty slow, but good god he was well off. He had loads of jewelry, fancy clothes, and his wallet was ripe for the taking. Without much thought, I did what I do best. I went to take it from him. I brushed by him, grabbed his wallet, and slipped away. What I didn't realize is that he noticed, and followed me to a quiet corner of the city. When I felt I was alone, I went to count my score.” Panic wells inside me, and I want to scream. To do anything to stop speaking. I can practically see the bazaar again, the towering sandstone walls, the crowded streets. And the man, who I’d since learned his name was. I’d made a mistake, and I’d paid for it.<br/>     “And then he came into view, and made quite the scene about who he was. Some.. Sultan from out of town, with a huge team of guards and.. Well, I didn't really pay attention, truthfully. I was more focused on the rather large, curved sword on his side, which he had an iron grip on. He asked me if I knew what they did with thieves, and I rather cheekily responded that no, I didn't, because I was so good at it I never had to find out.” The man’s brow creases a bit when he sees it; tears are fighting their way to my eyes. I don’t want to finish. But I do.<br/>     “With terrifying speed, I was pinned against the wall. He brought his face close to mine and told me I was about to find out. Up came his sword, and down went my hand.” Somehow, I stop just long enough to choke out a small sob, but that’s all I can muster before I feel forced- compelled to share. I let out a small, shaky breath.<br/>      “He left me there, in the alley, no wallet, one hand, and without a way to get help. It was... Painful. Excruciatingly painful, but It's safe to say I learned my lesson. The hard way, sure, but I learned it, nonetheless.” I rub at my hand, and he gives me quite the look. Here I am, telling him I lost my hand, but I still have two. After standing there over me, he sits, staring through me with piercing green eyes, that I swear we’re blue when I saw him walk over.<br/>      “Quite interesting” he says calmly. “<em>How did you make it out of there?</em>” There it is again. That weight in my stomach, that tightness in my throat. My hand finds my scarf, slipping under it to press against the necklace under my shirt. And then I speak.<br/>      “I have this… Necklace that my mother gave me. I'm still not sure exactly how it works, but I know that if I can picture a place or person, it works better.” I try to stop, but I can’t. I don’t know why I’m still trying, but I am. This is something I haven’t told anyone in a very long time. And this man is ripping it out of me without problem. What is he?<br/>      “So I thought of a friend of mine and popped up in her living room, scaring the crap out of her while I was at it. She's an Artificer, and her buddy's got a way with potions and dealing with... amputated limbs, so I figured that while she worked on a hand to replace the one I lost, I could get the stump to stop bleeding.” More tears threaten to spill, but the story is over. My story. That he forced out of me. I shiver, pulling my arms close over myself- a hug. I’m hugging myself, something I hadn’t done since I was a child.<br/>     The man stands, and gives a small smile. Was he always holding a tape recorder?<br/>      “Thank you for your stateme-“ He cuts himself off. “Apologies, I meant story. A very interesting one indeed, I can’t imagine what it's like to miss a hand… ” As he says it, he looks at my hand, which I still have. My throat tightens again. I’m sure I know what will happen next. “But I…” There’s no weight to his words. No compulsion to tell him anything. I don’t know what he said, panic had kicked in, and my brain had fogged over.<br/>      “Pardon?” I try, which earns an odd look. He sighs quietly, mumbling something that has the tone of an apology, but I’m not sure.<br/>      “I have to ask; If you lost a hand, why do you still have two?” That question is much easier to answer, but it still feels like my whole world is crashing down around me. Without a word, I pull off my right glove.<br/>Beneath the leather, is not a hand. Not a human hand, at least. What I hold up is a metal hand. It is purple, like the rest of my outfit, with blue metal over the joints, where knuckles might be.<br/>      “My friend is an artificer.” I say simply, shrugging. “Artificers make things.” As I say it, I pull my glove back on. “Am I free to go now?” I ask, tucking the glove back into my sleeve. He nods, and the weight in my stomach is gone. I reach up, touching my necklace which still hides under my shirt. And then London is gone, and I’m home once more.<br/>      That is when I break down crying.</p>
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